Filling the Holes
by DarkPhoenix713
Summary: Slight AU - A bunch of WHAT IFs. What if Hermione had stocked up at Tesco? What if people paid a bit more attention to Harry? What if Voldemort had self-esteem issues? Funny and sad and happy - a bunch random scenes that are spun out of non-being. *New Chapter! Harry and his friends are starting a DADA group. What's the first rule? You don't talk about it. Better name for the DA.
1. Tesco

Hello! This is just a little idea I had. I often read the books or watch the movies and wonder; wait a sec, why the hell didn't they do this? It's a bad habit of mine, addressing gaping plot holes, and my friends and family almost can't stand to watch movies with me. C'est la vie.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I own Tesco, but the combination of the two is apparently a ridiculous and AU thing...

"I'm starving! I just almost bled to death a few weeks ago, and look at this! Freaky mushrooms!"

Ron's plaintive moans percolated the strained silence in the tent. Hermione's lips were pursed at the criticism of the meagre meal she had prepared, but she looked sympathetic towards the 'almost dying' argument the red-head had made.

Harry was a bit more frustrated. Ron was griping about not eating and being starved – an easy thing to do when his mother and Hogwarts made sure to feed him three enormous meals a day. Harry had gotten by with way less, over the years. And did he really have to use the adjective 'freaky'? Harry sighed. Ron was so ... Ugh!

But Harry and Hermione simply buckled down an choked the food into their stomachs, before preparing for bed, all the while being serenaded by Ron's complaints.

They went on for a few hours before petering out around eleven, and unknowingly, both Harry and Hermione resolved that they would shut Ron up, one way or another.

When morning came, Hermione and Harry dressed quickly, while telling Ron to hurry up and get his arse (Harry!) out of bed.

Ron grumbled and griped, and sat up before asking, "What's for breakfast?"

At his sullen tone, Harry and Hermione turned and grinned identical, strained grins.

"Well, Ron," said Hermione, "I figured we'd go fetch some, what do you say?"

"Huh?" Ron eloquently replied.

"Pack up the tent quickly and we'll be on our way!" said Harry in a brittle yet chipper voice.

Utterly bemused, Ron complied, and they were soon apparating away from the secluded clearing they had made camp in.

The trio appeared outside a large, grey building with several automobiles parked outside of it. Ron looked at the massive structure in awe. Harry and Hermione, dressed in casual muggle wear, tossed the invisibility cloak at Ron before making their way towards the building.

Correctly assuming that he was supposed to put on the cloak, Ron fell into step behind Harry and Hermione as they each grabbed a metal cart and began pushing it towards what Ron had decides was a muggle shop.

"What are we doing?" Ron hissed. "Harry, you could be seen! What about Death Eaters?"

Hermione sniffed at the question. "Ron, I highly doubt that You-Know-Who's supporters frequent Tesco," she said with a maddening air of explaining something to one very small.

"Tes-what?"

"It's a muggle food shop, mate," said Harry, taking pity on his tall friend.

They entered the store, and made their way to the grocery aisles. The visible pair began grabbing anything non-perishable off the shelf at an alarming rate:

Pasta noodles, tinned soup, tomato sauce, tuna fish, baked beans, crackers, hot chocolate mix, instant noodles, cups of pudding, tinned fruits, bags of nuts and dried fruits... they grabbed whatever they could that wouldn't go bad immediately, and Hermione also stocked up on can-openers and several other muggle kitchen items in the even that they cannot use their wands.

They make a run over to the produce section and select just enough of the potatoes, onions, and sundry vegetables to cook short term, grab a large carton of eggs and a few litres of milk, then make their way to the register.

Ron watches in amazement as they pay for enough food to last them for months, then they make thier way out of the store with bags packed with food.

They carefully place their provisions in Hermione's beaded bag, then swiftly dissapparate.

As they set up their protective wards, they munch on the pastries that Harry had selected from the bakery section. While they are no closer to finding more Horcruxes, they sure as Hell aren't going to starve along the way.

"That store," says Ron, after a long morning of silence, "was bloody brilliant!"

So that's that. I'll probably add more random scenes that address inconsistencies throughout all the books, in no particular chronological order. If you don't like that format, then you can ignore some and jump around chapters. I'll even provide a chapter guide in my comments if you want. I have some OCD friends, so I understand.


	2. Doorstep

So I admit it. I copied a _teeny _bit from the book. The book isn't mine, anyway, so don't judge. These scenes are not linked in any way, I'm just taking parts and changing them independent from each other. So they don't affect each other at all.

Reviews are great – if you have any suggestions for parts where things could change, let me know! I was thinking of the following:

Harry in Slytherin

Harry _not_ breaking one of the rules

Harry telling someone about Umbridge

Harry in any other house

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><p><strong>November 1st 1981<strong>

"Good luck, Harry," the old man murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets, and fell off the front step.

Blinking bright green eyes sleepily, fifteen-month-old baby Harry struggled against his swaddling. Finally freeing himself, he looked around the darkened houses. Slowly, he pushed himself up off the ground and made his way unsteadily down the walk, dragging his blanket behind him.

Harry had no idea where he was. Where was mummy and daddy? Why wasn't Pa'foo here? Or Moony? Or Wormy? He made a little sniffling noise as he toddled down the street. He remembered the funny looking man and a lot of green light. Where was mummy?

Harry sat down in the street and started wailing. After about five minutes, lights started coming on all down Privet drive, as the neighbours peered through their curtains to find out whose baby was making that racket.

They all saw the little boy sitting in the middle of the road, crying his heart out. Instantly, the snobbish housewives rushed out in their dressing gowns and slippers, while their husbands congregated and grumbled about 'teenage parents' and 'disgusting irresponsible wastrels'.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley made their way out of their house as well, Petunia clutching her sleeping son. A pale outline on her doorstep made her pause, however. Stooping, trying to counterbalance a hefty Dudley, she picked it up. Her eyes widened as she recognized the loopy handwriting.

Quickly, she scanned the letter. Then she glanced at what looked like the entire population of Privet Drive. She could step forward and claim the boy, but that would lead to awkward questions.

No, Mr. Number 3 was an civil attorney, and his wife had volunteered him to look into care for the child. The boy would be well-taken care of, and Petunia and Vernon wouldn't be connected with the freaks at all!

Scanning the letter again she sniffed. Her sister was dead – she wanted nothing to do with freaky blood wards anyway! What if they contaminated Dudley.

After stepping forward and cooing over 'that poor, unfortunate boy!' she made her excuses to her neighbours and begged off so she could put Dudley back to bed. The ladies nodded understandingly, and the men patted Vernon on the back as they looked at his wife doting over her son and the abandoned boy.

The boy was kept at Mr. And Mrs. Number 3's house until morning, when the lawyer went into the city and turned him over to the court system. The residents of Privet Drive all pitched in and tried to one-up each other with gifts for the little boy, who eventually had quite a few toys, book, and clothes to his name.

With jet black hair, and bright green eyes, Harry never even had to go to an orphanage. An older couple who had trouble conceiving and who had been put on a wait list saw the boy and instantly fell in love.

Harry was named Michael and grew up in a loving home as an active and healthy only-child. His parents took his oddness in their stride, and Harry in turn trusted them implicitly.

The day his Hogwarts letter came, the Johnsons were absolutely flabbergasted, and required a visit from a shocked, yet secretly pleased Professor McGonagall. She had _told_ Albus that the boy shouldn't be raised with his aunt, and she was right; she had checked in on the Dursleys before she had visited Harry – no, _Michael_ – and their son was morbidly obese and spoiled, Vernon had anger and alcoholism issues, and Petunia could not keep up with all her housework. It was not a healthy family environment, and Michael was lucky to have escaped it.

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><p>Hehe let me know what you think! I'd appreciate it. Seriously, who leaves a kid who can walk on a doorstep? That's just asking for trouble. Unless Dumbledore put sleeping or warming charms on him, but they're not mentioned, so whatever.<p> 


	3. Shack

Heya!

General disclaimers apply - I don't own the characters, but I do possess the common sense that they apparently lack in the canon.

What would happen if people thought things through completely when trying to clear one's name? Perhaps the objective could be obtained? Let's find out!

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><p><strong>June, 1994 - Shrieking Shack<strong>

"He can go to Azkaban," Harry said. "If anyone deserves that place, he does ..."

Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him.

"Very well," said Lupin. "Stand aside, Harry."

Harry hesitated.

"I'm going to body-bind him," said Lupin. "That's all, I swear."

Harry stepped out of the way. With a quick '_petrificus totalus_' Pettigrew was rendered immobile. For extra safety, Lupin shot ropes that thoroughly bound Pettigrew up. He then turned to Sirius, and offered him Snape's wand.

"Well, let's get you back to the castle, then."

Sirius grinned.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, however.

"Are you stupid?" asked Hermione.

The two men turned to her, with confused and slightly affronted looks.

Harry came to the defense of his friend.

"Look, I'm just as happy about how this turned out as you are, but did you not hear what Snape said?" he asked, gesturing to the unconscious Potions Professor.

Sirius grimaced, "Who cares what the greasy git said? He didn't believe us!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry said "Well, no, but I sure believe him when he said he was going to give Professor Lupin his potion. Anything you'd care to tell us about tonight, professor?"

Lupin gasped.

"I completely forgot! I'll be turning soon! Get out of here at once, Sirius, seal the tunnel!"

Without further ado, he levitated both Pettigrew and Snape and dropped them down the tunnel. He motioned for the teenagers to follow.

Harry and Hermione stepped forward, wands drawn, supported a splinted Ron between them. Sirius briefly embraced Lupin, with the promise to talk when he wasn't feeling so furry.

As they made their way down the tunnel, Hermione started talking logistics.

"Well, I don't think we should wake up Professor Snape just yet, he isn't likely to listen to us. And there may still be Ministry officials wandering around after Buckbeak's... after that, so Mr. Black, you should stay in your animagus form when we get out. We'll go and talk to Dumbledore with Pettigrew, and when we think we've convinced him, we'll come and get you."

Sirius was looking mildly bemused, and just nodded along, levitating Pettigrew so that his forehead scraped the tunnel's ceiling.

Harry was still helping Ron, while Hermione had her wand on Snape. As they exited the tunnel, Crookshanks darted ahead and froze the tree. They handed Sirius Harry's invisibility cloak and told him to stay hidden, and not do anything stupid, then set off towards the castle.

As Harry paused to shake Sirius' hand, a dreadful howl came from the direction of the Shrieking Shack, and they all winced.

Sirius sighed, "Poor old Moony. We'll get this sorted, and have a place for him, hey?"

Harry blinked. "Pardon?" he asked.

Looking suddenly flustered, Sirius stuttered out "Well, I understand if you want to stay with your Aunt, but well, I'm you – I'm not sure if you knew – I'm your godfather and if ... if you wanted – but I'd completely understand if you'd rather..."

Smiling at the escapee, Harry said "Sirius I know you're my godfather. I think it's brilliant. And do you mean... I could maybe, stay with you sometimes?"

"Sometimes?" Sirius exclaimed. "Well, I supposed, but I would love if you would be comfortable living with me!"

"Leave the Dursleys? Brilliant! Do you have a house? Oh, I can't wait to get your name cleared!" Harry crowed.

Shrugging the cloak over his shoulders, Sirius smiled, though he filed away for future reference the fact that Harry was willing to leave his home with someone he had only known for a few hours. The trio waved a cheerful goodbye, and Sirius slipped into the shadows to wait with a patience born in Azkaban. He looked up into the night sky, gazing at the full moon, and allowed himself to hope.

Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made their way up to the castle. The Entrance Hall was deserted, so they made their way to the Hospital Wing to deposit Snape. Levitating him onto a bed, Hermione rushed to Madame Pomfrey, asking her to contact the Headmaster. The bewildered Mediwitch complied, and Albus Dumbledore appeared with gharish robes and twinkling eye.

He grew far more sober when he saw his Potions Master on a bed and the supposedly deceased Peter Pettigrew bound on the floor.

Looking at the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends, he said, "Explain, please."

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><p>Thanks for reading! I'd love reviews with ideas for more WHAT IF. Remember "the saddest is what might have been" but it is endlessly amusing and frustrating trying to fix it in my own little world of fandom :)<p> 


	4. Cupboard

Hello! Here's another one - what if Harry hid his letter from his relatives? Maybe there would be a lack of the amusing flight from letters of death, and a sudden appearance of a dutiful Deputy Head! Who knows?

Thank you for reading :)

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><p>"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.<p>

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and – _a letter for Harry_.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. But here was a letter, with his name unmistakeably on it. He only managed to glance at it a moment before he shook himself out of his shock and realized he should get back to the kitchen. He highly suspected that Uncle Vernon or Dudley would take his letter if they were to see it, so he slid it into the ventilation slot in his cupboard as he passed it on the way back to the kitchen.

Passing the two pieces of mail to his uncle, Harry sad down with his head spinning with questions. He couldn't bring himself to care all that much about Uncle Vernon's news from Marge; he wanted to know who on earth was writing to him. For one of the rare moments in his life, he couldn't wait to get back into his cupboard!

Unfortunately for Harry, he wouldn't get to his cupboard – and his letter – for another few hours. Aunt Petunia had him doing yard work all morning, then had gotten angry at him for treading dirt into her house. Harry rolled his eyes behind her back as he went to wash up. Trust her to get angry at him for getting dirty while doing his chores.

After a scanty lunch on Harry's part, and a smorgasbord on Dudley's, Harry was tasked with cleaning the kitchen and his mess in the Hall. He got this done at a good pace, and his Aunt gave a serving of dinner then shut him in his cupboard while Dudley watched television.

This was exactly what Harry had been waiting for. Switching on the naked bulb, he grasped at the letter that had fallen to the dingy cupboard floor. As he had seen before, his name was on it, along with an unnervingly exact address:

_Mr H. Potter_

_ The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_ 4 Privet Drive _

_ Little Whinging_

_ Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, and eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

Excitedly, Harry broke the seal and drew out the first piece of heavy parchment. With wide eyes he read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_ Dear Mr Potter,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks. What in the world was this? A school for magic? Why would anyone play such an elaborate prank on him? He would have guessed Dudley or his friends wanting to get him in trouble with his uncle, but he knew that they were not smart enough to plan such an elaborate hoax. Could it be some whimsical neighbour? How in the world did anyone know he lived in the cupboard?

'Oh God,' Harry thought, 'I have a stalker.'

Who else would know about the cupboard, other than the Dursleys? And they never so much as mentioned magic; they abhorred anything slightly out of the ordinary – Harry had just gotten out of confinement from the Zoo Incident.

Was this a subtle threat? Did someone know Harry was a freak? What in the world did they want? Harry noticed another piece of parchment in the envelope and warily pulled it out. It said:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Uniform

_First year students will require:_

_Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_ Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

Harry's eyes widened as a detailed list of magical books and equipment was revealed on the page. Who in the world thought this up? It was so unbelievable, Harry was almost inclined to go along with it. But magic couldn't exist! Could it?

Tilting his head to the side, Harry considered. Would the strange things that seemed to happen only to him be considered magic? Was that what his uncle called his 'freakishness'?

It definitely wasn't _normal_ to turn wigs blue, or have huge panes of glass disappear. If it wasn't magic, what else could it be?

Looking at the first letter, he realized that this mysterious letter-sender would be waiting for 'his owl' which must be some odd _magic_ code for a reply.

He thought that it was very unfair; they didn't explain how to reply, so how in the world could he? Assuming this wasn't a prank of course. He wouldn't want to get his hopes up. He decided the only thing he could do (without drawing the attention of his relatives) was wait. If the letters were for real, they would probably check to see why he hadn't replied; they seemed to want either a yes or no answer.

Decision made, he settled onto his cot and pulled out some less confusing reading material. He had to thank Dudley – he never noticed when books went missing from either of his bedrooms, and underneath his cot was only big enough for the extremely small almost-eleven-year-old to reach.

Harry waited around the house for a week or so, his thoughts only occasionally drifting to his letter. No more mysterious parchments came, and he had almost completely forgotten about his by July 30th. He lay in his cupboard while Dudley watched 'The Great Humberto' and silently whiled away the hours until he turned eleven. He drifted off at midnight, after wishing himself a Happy Birthday, and knew no more, until he was abruptly woken much earlier than usual by a loud rap on the door.

He heard his uncle cursing upstairs, and felt the reverberating thuds as he made his way down the stairs. Grumbling about it being 'bloody six in the morning', he opened the door with a rude, "WHAT?"

Harry heard a crisp Scottish accent say, "Mr. Dursley, I am Minerva McGonagall. I am here to inquire as to why Mr. Potter has not answered his letter."

Harry smiled to himself. Finally, he would get the answers he was seeking. And if he was really lucky, Uncle Vernon would choke on his own tongue – it sounded oddly like he was swallowing it at the moment.

"Where is the boy?" the woman's voice inquired.

Deciding that he had nothing really to lose, Harry spoke up.

"In here, ma'am," he said, knocking on his door.

There was a lengthy pause while Vernon made only gasping noises.

Suddenly, brisk footsteps were coming closer and closer, stopping outside his door. The latch was unlocked with a vicious clatter and Harry was blinking at the imposing figure of a stern-looking woman with a dark bun and a sweeping emerald-green dress.

Meeting her eyes, he saw that they were blazing with fury, and sadness.

The woman spoke, her sharp voice suddenly tremulous as she asked, "What, Mr. Dursley, is your nephew doing in a CUPBOARD?"

She positively roared that last word, turning on his uncle, and he heard a gasp and footsteps on the landing as his aunt made a late appearance. Poking his head out of the small space, Harry witnessed the lady whip out a slender stick and brandish it at his uncle, shrieking with rage.

Harry grinned. Unless he was quite mistaken, he was going to Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>Any other ideas? I like the Veritaserum suggestion - I just don't know how to keep it with the overall tone - I wan't Harry to be able to pull one over on all the people who screw with him :D<p> 


	5. High Inquisitor

Hi people! I'm back with another little 'what if' scenario. This one is mostly crack, but it made me smile, and I hope it makes you titter a bit inside.

Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter, and I make no comment to any questions regarding Pot Brownies or the ingredients therein ;)

Warnings: Pot Brownies, and the results thereof

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><p><strong>The High Inquisitor<strong>

Dolores Umbridge eyed the beautifully wrapped package with glee. She had just stolen – er, _confiscated_ – it from that insufferable Potter boy. She remembered the look of absolute horror that had crossed his face as she snatched it from his pocket, and accused him of bringing dangerous items into the school.

He had opened his mouth to argue, but she had played her trump card and threatened him with another detention. She was sure she had seen fear flash through the disgustingly green orbs before he masked it with a blank expression.

Now the package sat on her desk, wrapped in flimsy muggle wrapping paper. When asked who had sent him the package, he had hesitated before claiming that his muggle relatives had. She had scoffed, and sent him on his way; he made a hasty exit, mumbling about 'needing to ask Dudders to work out something else'.

Carefully, Dolores peeled back the wrapping, revealing an innocuous cookie tin. She glared at it for a while before suspiciously raising the lid.

What she saw utterly flabbergasted her. Instead of illegal potions or dark artifacts, nestled in the tin were the most delectable-looking brownies she had ever seen. They had all the marks of being home-made – a rare thing in a world of house elves and magic. Dolores crowed in triumph – it was good that she had taken these, Potter definitely didn't deserve the comforts of home when he was rebelling against the Ministry.

She leered about at her beautiful kittens in triumph. She had taken this as breakfast was ending, and she had just enough time before her first class to sample them. For some reason, meals at Hogwarts never satisfied her; she was sure the house elves were doing something.

With a satisfied smirk, she bit into a brownie. And almost fainted. They were the most delicious brownies she had ever had! They were moist and chocolatey and had an undefined _something_ about them that had her polishing off the entire tin in short order.

She decided that, while muggles were utterly horrid menaces to society, when her muggle-restriction laws were passed she would include a clause on brownie-making. It would be lovely to have the muggles making these brownies to their wizarding betters.

Smiling blissfully, she made her way to her first class, which just so happened to have Potter in it.

00000o0o00000ooo0000

What followed after was a day that went down in Hogwarts' Unofficial History as the most terrifyingly hilarious series of DADA classes _ever_.

"What was she _singing_?" a confused third-year was asking her friends as they gathered for dinner in the Great Hall.

"Did she really have us counting dust motes all lesson?" a bemused Hufflepuff inquired.

The person sitting across from him laughed, "yeah, mate! Then she gave a sort of scream and hid behind her desk! What was with that?"

A passing Ravenclaw overheard this and addressed the Huffflepuff, "I think she thought they were going to eat her. We were the class after you, and she was crawling around muttering about it..."

"You think that's bad?" a Gryffindor joined in, "our lesson she was screaming about stars shining and being happy, and she went up to the Astronomy Tower to go and say hi!"

"But it's daytime..." A Ravenclaw muttered, as a Hufflepuff exclaimed,

"Did you stop her? Or follow her?"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "Nah. We figured it was a free period. Colin followed and took pictures, I think..."

The entire Hall was babbling about the baffling behaviour exhibited by Professor Umbridge. Harry was sitting in a sort of shocked daze, barely hearing the Weasley twins taking bets on what she was likely to do next.

Just then, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and in waddled Umbridge. A hush fell over the students, as they turned as one to observe her. This unsettled the staff greatly, so they, too, directed their attention to the pink cloud that was their fellow proffessor.

She made her way between the tables, and Harry groaned and lowered his head to the table as he realized she was munching on a brownie. Hermione, having long since diagnosed the symptoms, was looking about with narrowed eyes, while Ron was looking in disgusted envy at the brownie.

As she approached the staff table, something seemed to catch Umbridge's eye, and she stilled. Suddenly, she launched herself into the arms of one very startled Minerva McGonagall.

The Hall held its collective breath, with all of its occupants looking on in amused horror at the scene.

"Minnie!" Shrieked Umbridge, and the Gryffindors as one crossed themselves in anticipation of her imminent demise.

"Minnie, I don't hate you! Not at all!" continued Umbridge. McGonagall's eyebrows were drawn together and her nostrils white, but instead of looking terrifying as she usually did, she merely looked bewildered. Snape looked as though he was having an out of body experience.

"Minnie, we _need to be friends_!" squealed the pink monstrosity. "I _love_ you Minnie!"

McGonagall finally broke through her stupor and said sharply, "Get a hold of yourself Dolores! What on earth is going on?"

This she said while looking about in appeal to her fellow professors, while subtly shifting Umbridge away from her.

"But Minnie!" Umbridge wailed, and the students waited with baited breath for the blow to fall, "you're such a fluffy kitty! Lets be _friends!_"

The Weasley twins could no longer contain themselves, and exploded with laughter at the sight of McGonagall's face. The sound of Colin snapping away in the background created an interesting percussion with Harry, who was banging his forehead on the table.

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><p>AN: So? Thoughts? Again, this is just randomness that distracts me from writing my actual stories, which I have sever writers block concerning! If you have any thoughts for other 'what ifs', let me know! Or check out my other stories :)<p>

Reviews are appreciated!


	6. Veritaserum

Hello again! Here is the bit where Umbridge interrogates Harry! Harry fails to realize that it is a set up, and has to work his way out of a tight spot! Just a little thing I thought up while looking at some old reviews. Any ideas for new chapters, or some stupid plot holes you want filled? Let me know!

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter and I admit that I stole quite a lot of text from the fifth book here. It all belongs to Rowling, she can even have the additional stuff if she wants. Promise :P

Thanks for reading!

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><p>'Sit,' said Umbridge curtly, pointing towards a chair. Harry sat. She continued to scribble for a few moments. He watched some of the foul kittens gamboling around the plates over her head, wondering what fresh horror she had in store for him.<p>

'Well, now,' she said finally ,setting down her quill and surveying him complacently, like a toad about to swallow a particularly juicy fly. 'What would you like to drink?'

'What?' said Harry, quite sure he had misheard her.

'To drink, Mr. Potter,' she said, smiling still more widely. 'Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?'

As she named each drink, she gave her short wand a wave, and a cup or glass of it appeared on her desk.

_Amazing, _Harry thought, _she actually can do magic._

That thought was interrupted by a sudden certainty of a conspiracy of inept toads and terrified-but-obedient House Elves. It would be like her, to use a 'sub-human' to make up for her failures.

'Nothing, thank you,' said Harry.

'I wish you to have a drink with me,' she sid, her voice becoming dangerously sweet. 'Choose one.'

_Hmm, if this wasn't Umbridge, I might have to question about student-teacher boundaries. I mean, in the muggle world, a teacher forcing attentions on a student, making them drink with them, would mean an inappropriate interest – _Harry's eyes widened. _ NO! Merlin, no! Kill that thought! Avada Kedavra that thought into the bloody ground!_

Weakly, Harry redirected his attention to the simpering woman.

'Fine ... tea then,' said Harry, with a shrug that was almost a shudder.

She got up and made quite a performance of adding milk with her back to him. She then bustled around the desk with it, smiling in a sinisterly sweet fashion.

'There,' she said, handing it to him. 'Drink it before it gets cold, won't you? Well, now, Mr. Potter ... I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.'

He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, 'You're not drinking up!'

Mentally rolling his eyes, Harry raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The woman was so _pushy_! Why did she even want him to – Harry paled. An odd feeling was coming over him, and he glanced at his tea while Umbridge's smile widened.

'Good, ' she whispered. 'Very good. Now then ...' she leaned forwards a little. '_Where is Albus Dumbledore?_'

_She did, didn't she? That absolute, effing toad, she slipped me Veritaserum. How the bloody hell am I getting out of this? Moody is going to kill me..._

An odd feeling was building up in Harry's throat, tingling it's way toward his tongue. He resisted it, but was eventually forced to blurt, 'No idea!' which was the truth, after all.

'Drink up, drink up,' she said, still smiling. 'Now, Mr. Potter, let us not play childish games. I know that you know where he has gone. You and Dumbledore have been in this together from the beginning. Consider your position, Mr. Potter ...'

Harry decided to volunteer the information this time, focusing on the wording.

'I have no knowledge of Professor Dumbledore's location,' he said smoothly.

_Excellent. I can control the wording, as long as it is true to me!_ Harry thought gleefully. He would just have to play it smart, and he just may get out of this!

He pretended to drink again. She was watching him very closely.

'Very well,' she said, though she looked displeased. 'In that case, you will kindly tell me the whereabouts of Sirius Black.'

Harry's stomach turned over as he tried to figure out the phrasing. The tingling was starting in his throat.

'I ... do not know his current location,' Harry said in a rush.

_Perfectly true, _Harry reasoned. _ He could be anywhere – the kitchen, the drawing room, Buckbeak's room, his bedroom, the loo. I don't know where he is._

'Mr. Potter,' said Umbridge, 'let me remind you who I nearly caught in the Gryffindor fire in October. I know perfectly well you were meeting with the criminal Black!'

Harry thought about that. The only _criminal_ Black that he knew of was Bellatrix Lestrange, and he hadn't even met her. Sirius wasn't a criminal, he hadn't even been convicted!

'I was not meeting with the criminal Black,' he told her with a straight face.

The Toad's face purpled and seemed to puff out.

'You lie, boy!' she shrieked.

'I must not tell lies,' Harry countered tonelessly.

Umbridge opened her mouth to scream some more, but suddenly there was a loud explosion:

BOOM!

The very floor of the office shook, and Umbridge dashed, out, telling him to get back to lunch. He gazed out the open door for a moment, before turning to her side table and rifling around. He came across a small bottle almost full of a clear liquid. He shoved it into his pocket, then left the classroom, joining the rush of screaming students and out-of-control fireworks.

In the confusion, not many noticed Harry's more candid-than-usual comments, and Harry went to sleep that night exhausted, plotting how to best use the little bottle against the Pink Toad.

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><p>Haha, yeah just a little thing. Thoughts? Check out my other stories! I'm trying to get the plots progressing in them, so if you like crossovers, check them out and review! I desperately need ideas!<p> 


	7. Fight Club

Hello! I'm having a terrible time with writer's block with my other fics, and I barely have time anyway with work and stuff, but this was a little idea I had, and I just went with it.

It started out as something that was supposed to be funny, but then it turned more serious. Seriousness does happen occasionally, I suppose.

In any case, I hope you like it, and if you're following my other stuff, don't lose faith! I get a few paragraphs in here and there, and then real life bursts down the door and ties me up and drags me back to my desk. Ugh.

Disclaimers: I own neither Harry Potter, nor Fight Club. Oh but if I did...

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><p><span><strong>The First Rule...<strong>

They gathered in the Room of Requirement, trickling in in small groups of two or three. The students looked around in awe at the room that seemed to be built to suit their purpose and their purpose only. Some went to inspect the various Dark detectors on the side tables, while a few Ravenclaws joined Hermione in perusing the defence books before the meeting began in earnest.

When everyone was finally present, a hush seemed to fall, and all seemed to turn to Harry in expectation.

Harry swallowed nervously.

Suddenly, Hermione spoke up.

"I think we should select a leader," she said. Many people stared blankly at her.

"Harry is the leader," Cho said slowly, as if Hermione were lacking in intellect. Harry would have been indignant for his rather clever friend, if he wasn't feeling all warm and glowy at the sort-of-praise from Cho.

"Well," Hermione said with a shrug, "we should elect him properly. Make it official. Hands up for Harry being the leader?"

Rolling their eyes, everyone raised their hands, even a reluctant Zacharias Smith.

Harry was about to begin, when Hermione cut in again.

"I also think we should pick a name!" She said enthusiastically. "To promote team spirit!"

This cause was taken up much more enthusiastically, and the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had several interesting options.

"The Anti-Umbridge League!"

"The Ministry of Magic are Morons Group!"

Hermione tactfully demurred, trying to suggest that, as a _secret_ society, they should have a name that doesn't shout out their intentions to the whole school.

Cho spoke up then, and Harry's hormones thought that her rather bland suggestion of 'The Defense Association' was the most brilliant name in creation.

The other students, however, were rather taken with Ginny's suggestion of 'Dumbledore's Army' and were murmuring among themselves about what a good joke it would be, not seeming to realize that the name was almost as bad as the ones suggested by the Terrible Trio (tm). Because really, if anyone found a paper with the name of such a group on it, the Ministry would be up in arms to, at the very least, expel the students involved.

It was then that Muggle-born Dean Thomas, usually soft-spoken but even more so with the absence of his best friend, Seamus Finnigan, made a suggestion.

"Fight Club," he said mildly, and the name seemed to cut through the babble of the group.

The Purebloods looked confused, but all Muggle-born and Half-blood wizards and witches looked up with a sudden gleam in their eye.

"All in favour of 'Fight Club'?" Hermione asked with a small smirk.

The name had weight. It dragged hands into the air.

"That's a majority, motion passed!" Hermione chimed.

Harry grinned at Dean Thomas, who winked. This was so excellent, he was able to overlook Cho and Ginny, who were pouting about their names not being selected. They just didn't get it; they were Purebloods.

Harry stood up, and cleared his throat to start the meeting.

"The first rule of Fight Club is," he began, "You do not talk about Fight Club." The students nodded in agreement.

"The second rule of Fight Club is," he raised the intensity in his voice, "_You do not talk about Fight Club_." The students were silent. The Muggle-borns' eyes were shining viciously.

"Third rule of Fight Club: Somebody yells stop, goes limp, drops their wand, the fight is over. Fourth rule: Depending on the exercise, only two to a fight. Fifth rule: only one _real_ fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule..." here Harry trailed off, looking perplexedly at Hermione, with a slight flush. Hermione, remembering the sixth rule, interjected smoothly,

"No robes or loose clothing." Harry nodded, and Dean pouted, looking pointedly at some of the more curvaceous girls. Harry studiously ignored him.

"Seventh rule," he continued, "Fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: If this is your first night at Fight Club, you _have_ to fight."

Justin Finch-Fletchley let out a whoop, which had his fellow Hufflepuffs looking at him curiously. Everyone nodded along to the rules, and Hermione was already writing them down neatly.

Everyone was still looking at Harry expectantly, so he said to them in a strong voice, "Voldemort is back." Everyone flinched, but still gazed at him avidly. "This is your life," he said, "and it's ending one moment at a time. There is a war coming, and you might get caught in it. Wizards out there will end your life, and take away moments you and your family _should_ still have." The gazes of the people around him were solemn. Cho looked heartbroken. Neville determined. Harry steeled himself.

"First," he said, "you've gotta know, not fear, know, that someday you're gonna die." Everyone flinched at that, but Harry pressed on. He should have died years ago, anyway. "You fight in here, you fight knowing that you're helping yourself. You'll die someday, on _your_ terms, not some Dark wizard's. You'll protect yourself, and you'll do a damned good job of it, because every spell you master, every reflex you develop, is a massive 'fuck you' back at the people trying to take away what moments you have left." He didn't really know what else to say. Hermione looked scandalized that he had sworn so badly, but Ron and the twins looked very impressed. Harry felt a blush coming on; he couldn't help it, he had just gotten into character.

"We'll start with the disarming charm," he announced.

A quietly excited and determined crowd of students paired off to master the spell.

Harry grinned, and tried not to think of the fact that the person who started Fight Club was actually a figment of someone's imagination. He was already seeing weird things in dreams – it would be too much to hope that Voldemort was really just a product of schizophrenia, wouldn't it?

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><p>AN: So, how was it? Admit it, Fight Club at Hogwarts would be insane. And Awesome.<p>

Reviews are always much loved - if you have any ideas for other scenes that could be developed or improved upon, or 'what if-ed', pass them on! I love them all :)

And if you HAVEN'T seen my other stuff, please take note of my blatant self-promotion! Go read it and while away your time! It's mostly HP crossovers, and one or two poems.

Cheers folks!

DarkPhoenix


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